


Upgrade

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Harems, M/M, PWP, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8928865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Sulu’s invited into Captain Chekov’s personal ranks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “harems” prompt on [my bingo card](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/149673766130/fic-bingo).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He lets out an audible sigh of relief as the sensors register the debris of the Romulan warbird scattering through space, the hard-fought battle at an efficient end. His piloting was what saved them—they were outnumbered and out gunned, but Hikaru left the first in the dust and shot the second down, then chased the survivor around the sun in a daredevil arc. It worked, too, and even more so than his own survival, Hikaru’s satisfied by the slow clapping that sounds behind him: his captain’s pleased.

“Well done, Sulu,” that captain croons, and Hikaru can see Arex tensing in the corner of his eye—Hikaru’s gotten all the credit. But Hikaru’s been the captain’s favourite for a while now, and he hopes this will finally be enough to push him the way of the last few favourites. He doesn’t turn around, keeps his eyes on the viewscreen, but can hear the captain’s boots hitting the deck, sliding deftly from the center chair. A few steps, and two small, delicate hands land on his shoulders, lightly kneading through the gold fabric. The captain leans down and purrs right into his ear, drenched in that thick, erotic Russian accent, “I zhink zhat merits a promotion, don’t you?”

Hikaru bites his tongue to suppress a moan. His body’s already responding to the promise, but he tries to force it down—it’s not proper to get aroused on the bridge, no matter how long he’s wanted this. He knows the senior staff is already full, and the promotion Captain Chekov speaks of isn’t military. Hikaru breathes a ragged, “Thank you, Sir.” Chekov chuckles and gives his shoulders a little squeeze. 

Then that wondrous contact ends, and Chekov drifts away, announcing, “Commander Uhura, you hawe the conn.” Hikaru dares to rise from his seat, hoping that was a silent summons, and Darwen instantly goes to fill his chair. Chekov pauses at the doors, waiting for Hikaru to catch up, grinning mildly when Hikaru’s at his side. 

Hikaru dares another, “Thank you, Sir,” too low for the others to hear. He puts all his ardour into it. Chekov’s answering smile is so bizarrely _cute_ , but the power behind him is intoxicating. Hikaru’s momentary lost in that spiral of allure—Captain Chekov is desirable in every way, and Hikaru feels them all. 

He follows when Chekov turns through the sliding doors, out into the polished corridor, pace trim and quick. The captain’s quarters aren’t far, lest he be needed swiftly on the bridge, and from what Hikaru’s heard, they span three times what other officer’s quarters do. Of course, they must, to house the captain’s private harem—something Hikaru hopes he’s about to become intimately familiar with. He imagines that harem is stationed in such quarters; if Hikaru were a Starfleet captain, he’d want his personal trophies close at hand. That used to be a goal of his. Now he just wants _this_ captain, and he finds himself watching Chekov’s ass twitch as he walks, swaying back and forth, perfectly cupped in the tight, black, regulation pants. The doors of Chekov’s cabin instantly part for him, and Chekov sweeps inside, Hikaru bristling with anticipation.

They are _large_. Clean and attractive, Chekov’s sprawling rooms are lined in potted plants—some gifts from Hikaru—and holo-paintings of the Russian countryside. Hikaru takes in little else before his gaze is captured by the two occupants of one white coach, and a third in an armchair across from it. Hikaru distinctly remembers the sole Vulcan occupant of their ship—Commander Spock, who served as first officer to the Enterprise’s previous captain. Tall and severe even in this, Spock is sprawled about the cushions, his bare, green-tinted skin glistening in sweat and stray stains of white, while a blond human bobs up and down between his legs. Bent over Spock, Ensign Kirk was a more recent edition to the crew, known more for his roguish style and flirtations than any adherence to the rules. He looks quite at home in his new station, one hand tracing Spock’s thigh while he works and the other lost between his legs. Across from them, McCoy—a former nurse under Dr. Chapel, if Hikaru remembers right—lazily strokes his own cock to the sight. He was ill tempered and difficult but as talented as the other two. He looks quite content to watch his fellow servants go to town on one another. All three men are utterly naked and unwaveringly handsome, and the thought of spending his shifts playing with them makes Hikaru’s cock stir all the harder. He only gets a few seconds to take them all in; Chekov walks right past them all and straight into the bedroom.

He doesn’t stop until he’s standing next to the mattress, and Hikaru pauses just an arm’s length away. Then he stands rigidly at attention, aware of just how much his cock is tenting his uniform. He can’t _help_ it. Chekov smoothly informs him, “Zhis is where I vould hawe you serwe me, Lieutenant Sulu, when I do not need you at zhe helm. What do you zhink?”

To Hikaru’s knowledge, no one’s ever actually turned down a promotion to a captain’s private harem. At least, certainly not on the Enterprise. He vividly remembers Kirk’s party—and his own jealousy—when that transfer came through. He bows his head respectfully and says, “I’m honoured, Sir.”

“You fence, yes?”

Taken a little off guard by the random question, Hikaru says, “Yes, Sir.”

“Take off your shirt.”

Hikaru gulps and immediately obeys. He pulls both his gold tunic and the black undershirt over his head, then holds them over his lap, unsure what to do with them. Suddenly, the question makes sense—Chekov eyes his taut chest with clear interest, and most of Hikaru’s muscles he can indeed tribute to fencing. Chekov takes a step closer, nearly flattening them together, enough that Hikaru can feel Chekov’s breath and sucks in his own for it. Chekov raises both hands to press against Hikaru’s pecs, smoothing hard over them, and he sighs in a sing-song voice, “You are wery attractive, Hikaru... I may call you Hikaru, yes?”

Hikaru breathes, “Yes,” and wonders giddily when he’ll get to start calling his captain _Pavel_. Thus far, he’s only done so in his dreams. 

Chekov smiles so wide that he looks like he’s going to giggle. He plays with Hikaru’s chest for a moment, stroking down each tight muscle, fingering between the creases, palming his nipples, then running down to the fly of Hikaru’s pants. Hikaru’s breath catches as Chekov takes the zipper and slowly pulls it down. Hikaru bites the inside of his lip to hold back the lewd groan that rises in his throat. His shaft bulges through the opening, still trapped in his boxers. Chekov strokes one finger lightly down the outline, and it’s all Hikaru can do to hold still. He has one quick, fleeting worry that it might be hard to measure up to someone as experienced as Kirk, someone as big as McCoy, someone as exotic as Spock. But Chekov seems to like what he sees, and he gives Hikaru’s cock an affectionate squeeze that wracks a gasp out of Hikaru he can’t stop in time. Chekov takes a step around Hikaru and pushes him flat onto the bed—Hikaru obediently hits the mattress.

“Lie down,” Chekov orders, though it comes out as more of an invitation. Hikaru pauses to kick off his boots, letting them go over the edge of the bed, and drops his shirts down the side. Chekov doesn’t seem to mind having them on the floor—maybe the others will come and pick it up later. Then Hikaru lies back with his head in the pillows, atop the white blankets, and tries to stare respectfully at the ceiling instead of his gorgeous captain. Chekov walks around the bed, admiring him from all angles, and decides aloud, “Wery nice, Hi-karu...” The way he drags out the name makes Hikaru shiver with _want_. 

Hikaru mutters another, “Thank you, Sir,” and then, to his delight, Chekov climbs up onto the bed. He crawls right over to Hikaru’s lap, throws a leg over it to straddle him, then sits down, heavy on Hikaru’s thighs. Hikaru fails to suppress another groan. Chekov’s hands return to his stomach, playing again with his abs. 

“Leonard,” Chekov calls idly to the other room, not bothering to look. “Hawe zhey finished yet?”

“Jim’s never finished,” McCoy’s gruff voice calls back, a bit of a snort in it. “And I think I could get a few more rounds out of the hobgoblin...”

Chekov lets out a troubled sigh. His eyes are fixed on Hikaru’s body, but he still says to the living room: “But I need someone to help me...” 

“I’m in!” Kirk’s voice instantly jumps in, sounding ragged but eager. 

There’s a rustle of movement and a rush of footsteps, McCoy grumbling after him, and Spock voices a quiet invitation to McCoy that Hikaru can’t hear properly over the pounding blood in his ears. Kirk shows up in the doorway a second later, and Hikaru tries not to stare at his naked, sweat-slicked body as he walks straight to the bed, climbing on. He gets behind Chekov, towering above Hikaru, and Chekov looks back with a smile as Kirk bends in to kiss his cheek. Hikaru yearns for that familiarity, that closeness. Chekov   
Turns back to Hikaru and purrs, “Don’t worry, Hi-karu; I will teach you soon how I like to be prepared...” And then he’s bending down, lowering to all fours above Hikaru, and time seems to stop as Chekov finally brushes his lips over Hikaru’s mouth.

Hikaru’s _ravenous_. But he lets his captain kiss him gently, chastely, just testing him at first. Chekov’s lips are so _soft_ , his body so warm, and Hikaru can feel his lithe form even through the uniform Chekov still wears. Hikaru can’t see Kirk anymore, not with Chekov consuming his vision, but from the little stutters of Chekov’s hips, Hikaru can guess what’s happening. Each drag of Chekov’s crotch across his own makes him all the harder. Chekov licks a circle around Hikaru’s lips, then pokes between, and Hikaru opens wide to admit Chekov’s tongue; he sucks it in with fervour and kisses Chekov back as hard as he dares, reveling in every second. Chekov makes a delighted noise and only kisses Hikaru harder for it; they grind together in a mix of clashing teeth and tongue, trading spit between them. Hikaru’s hands fist in the blankets at either side, but he longs to run them through Chekov’s honey curls. Chekov makes little mewling sounds into his mouth, then pulls up to sweetly ask, “Do you want to touch me, Hi-karu?”

Hikaru hisses, “Yes,” and just barely remembers to add, “Sir.” 

Chekov smiles brightly at him, then kisses his mouth again, ordaining: “You may.”

Hikaru’s hands instantly spring from the bed, one arm looping tight around Chekov’s trim waist and the other threading into Chekov’s soft hair. It’s everything he dreamed it would be, but so much _better_ , and he almost worries that he’s going to come in his pants from how much he _wants this_ , but then Chekov pulls away, teeth dragging Hikaru’s bottom lip. Chekov looms over him and murmurs, “Zhank you, Jim.”

Kirk grins and leans in to peck Chekov’s shoulder, then climbs off the bed. Hikaru’s fixed on Chekov, and only sees through his peripherals Kirk strolling back to the living room, where Spock’s broken cries and McCoy’s fierce growling permeate the air. It sounds like they’re having a hell of a time, but Hikaru prefers it right here. He notices belatedly that Chekov’s pants are rumpled around his waist, and he sits up higher on his knees, then pushes his pants down his thighs. 

As soon as it can, Chekov’s hard cock springs out of its confines, straight and rigid, flushed pink with a crowning tip that makes Hikaru’s mouth water. Chekov’s smaller than him, though not by much, and all Hikaru can think for one wild minute is that it’d be easy enough to fit that in his mouth. Chekov cutely bits his bottom lip and rubs his cock against Hikaru’s stomach, his taut balls bouncing beneath. But if the rumours Hikaru’s heard are true, the captain will prefer it the other way around.

Sure enough, Chekov pulls down Hikaru’s boxers, Hikaru’s cock jutting out, and Chekov hovers over it, moving to position himself right. Hikaru wish he could _see_ it, wishes he’d been the one to finger open Chekov’s hole. That must’ve been what Kirk was doing. Maybe he brought lube Hikaru didn’t notice. Hikaru finds it hard to concentrate on anything beyond Chekov’s beauty. The fact that he’s the _captain_ almost doesn’t matter—Hikaru gets the feeling he’d want to share Chekov’s bed, even if Chekov were a mere ensign with no credits to his name. Instead, he has the power to subjugate Hikaru completely, and yet he presses down until his puckered ring of muscles is pushing at Hikaru’s tip. Hikaru grits his teeth and forces his hips still, even though he yearns to buck up and impale Chekov in one brutal go. 

Bit by slow bit, Chekov lowers down—the first pop inside makes Hikaru cry out and see stars—Chekov’s so _tight_ , and his channel’s stiflingly hot, pulsing rapidly around Hikaru’s straining shaft. His hands dart to Chekov’s hips, clutching tight, while Chekov throws his head back and gasps deliciously. Hikaru only wishes he’d gotten Chekov as naked as the rest of the harem, but even like this, it’s the most Hikaru’s ever wanted a lover. Chekov sinks onto Hikaru’s cock with little, staccato rolls of his hips and hunched shoulders, hands on Hikaru’s stomach. Hikaru pokes his fingers under the hem of Chekov’s shirt, and when he isn’t stopped, he spreads them out, enjoying the smooth, creamy feeling of Chekov’s skin. Chekov makes a needy noise and bucks forward, then starts to rise up on his knees again.

He drops back down, taking Hikaru in one go, then lifts up quick and repeats it, using his own weight to enhance the pressure, while Hikaru digs into his skin and tries not to scream. Chekov’s so impossibly _pretty_ , and he feels _amazing_ —the best Hikaru’s ever been in. Chekov starts to bounce up and down at a merciless pace, fucking himself relentlessly on Hikaru’s cock, and all Hikaru can do is writhe and moan and clutch at Chekov’s body. He tries to stutter his hips up and meet Chekov’s thrusts half way, but Chekov goes too hard for it to make much difference—Hikaru’s just slammed right back into the mattress. Chekov rides him with expert skill and makes him dizzy with _pleasure_.

It seems impossible that it could be any better, but it does when Chekov dives down to drive their mouths together. Hikaru runs his hands up Chekov’s shirt, around to his back, holds him down, and Chekov buries him in a slew of kisses. Chekov supports his own weight on his elbows, hands running into Hikaru’s hair, and Hikaru hungrily devours one kiss after another, chasing Chekov’s tongue; Chekov tastes _so good_. He feels wonderful. Hikaru never wants to leave this bed. It’s hard to hear anything over the rocking of the bed springs, the squelching, slapping sound of skin-on-skin, and the moans caught between them, and Hikaru’s barely conscious of the noise in the living room anymore. All that matters is _Captain Chekov_ greedily devouring his mouth and cock. Hikaru finally runs his hands down Chekov’s arched spine to slip into his pants and cup his plush rear, squeezing both full cheeks—Chekov moans into his mouth and whimpers fast, “Da, Hikaru, _please_ —”

Somehow, Hikaru understands the order—he brings one hand back around to slip between Chekov’s spread thighs, his fingers wrapping around Chekov’s hard cock. He pumps it in time with their thrusts, only his sweat working for lubrication, but he doesn’t have the will to stop for anything more. Chekov squeals happily into his mouth, and Hikaru does his best to please, because he knows he’s not going to last, it’s too good, far too good, and then Chekov bites into Hikaru’s bottom lip and he _screams_ , bursting inside Chekov’s fire-hot body.

He comes with a torrential roar, bucking up hard enough to make Chekov bounce, his fist clenching around Chekov’s cock as he pumps his own orgasm out. Chekov cries against his lips and spills a second later, before he’s even finished coming, splattering Hikaru’s fingers and bare chest. Chekov kisses him right through it, until Hikaru’s a shivering, boneless wreck, still buried to the hilt in his captain’s trembling rear. 

Chekov ends the kisses to slump against Hikaru, taking a minute to breathe. They’re both panting hard. Hikaru just soaks it in, relishing the heady afterglow. He lifts one tired hand to pet through Chekov’s curls, and Chekov mewls against his shoulder.

Then Chekov struggles to sit again and gingerly lifts himself up, Hikaru hissing as his cock slips wetly out of Chekov’s ass. It’s a relief to be free of the pressure, but also vaguely disappointing. Chekov looks down at him with hazy, half-lidded, too-dilated eyes, and sighs, “I knew you would fuck me good, Hi-karu. I zhink you will be my _fawourite_.” Hikaru’s chest tightens, giddy at the thought of beating out the other three. Chekov lowers down again to nuzzle into his nose, whispering, “Will you accept zhe promotion, lieutenant?”

McCoy, Kirk, and Spock are a plethora of pleasure-filled fucking sounds in the background. Hikaru doesn’t need that reminder to say without hesitation, “Yes.”

Chekov smiles, bright as a star, and purrs, “Good boy,” before leaning down to kiss him.


End file.
